Daddy-Long-Legs
Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics--“As You Like It”
out of doors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.
And lastly: Julia and Sallie and I are going to New York next Friday
to do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theater
the next day with “Master Jervie.” He invited us. Julia is going to
stay at home with her family, but Sallie and I are going to stop at
the Martha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so
exciting? I’ve never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theater;
except once when the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the
orphans, but that wasn’t a real play and it doesn’t count.
And what do you think we’re going to see? “Hamlet.” Think of that!
We studied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by
heart.
I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.
Good-by, Daddy.
This is a very entertaining world.
Yours ever,
JUDY.
P. S. I’ve just looked at the calendar. It’s the 28th.
Another postscript.
I saw a street car conductor to-day with one brown eye and one blue.
Wouldn’t he make a nice villain for a detective story?
April 7th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Mercy! Isn’t New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you mean
to tell me that you actually live in all that confusion? I don’t
believe that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect
of two days of it. I can’t begin to tell you all the amazing things
I’ve seen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there
yourself.
But aren’t the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops?
I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makes
you want to devote your life to wearing clothes.
Sallie and Julia and I went shopping together Saturday morning.
Julia went into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and
gold walls and blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs.
A perfectly beautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk
trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we
were paying a social call, and started to shake hands, but it seems
we were only buying hats--at least Julia was. She sat down in front
of a mirror and tried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and
bought the two loveliest of all.
I can’t imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front
of a mirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to
consider the price! There’s no doubt about it, Daddy; New York
would rapidly undermine this fine, stoical character which the John
Grier Home so patiently built up.
And after we’d finished our shopping, we met Master Jervie at
Sherry’s. I suppose you’ve been in Sherry’s? Picture that, then
picture the dining-room of the John Grier Home with its
oilcloth-covered tables, and white crockery that you _can’t_ break,
and wooden-handled knives and forks; and fancy the way I felt!
I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave
me another so that nobody noticed.
And after luncheon we went to the theater--it was dazzling,
marvelous, unbelievable--I dream about it every night.
Isn’t Shakespeare wonderful?
“Hamlet” is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in
class; I appreciated it before, but now, dear me!
I think, if you don’t mind, that I’d rather be an actress than a
writer. Wouldn’t you like me to leave college and go into a
dramatic school? And then I’ll send you a box for all my
performances, and smile at you across the footlights. Only wear a
red rose in your buttonhole, please, so I’ll surely smile at the
right man. It would be an awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked
out the wrong one.
We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at
little tables with pink lamps and negro waiters. I never heard of
meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.
“Where on earth were you brought up?” said Julia to me.
“In a village,” said I, meekly to Julia.
“But didn’t you ever travel?” said she to me.
“Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and
sixty miles and we didn’t eat,” said I to her.
She’s getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny
things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I’m
surprised--and I’m surprised most of the time. It’s a dizzying
experience, Daddy, to pass eighteen years in the John Grier Home,
and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.
But I’m getting acclimated. I don’t make such awful mistakes as I
did; and I don’t feel uncomfortable any more with the other girls.
I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they
saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams
underneath. But I’m not letting the ginghams bother me any more.
Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.
I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Jervie gave us each a
big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn’t that sweet of
him? I never used to care much for men--judging by Trustees--but
I’m changing my mind.
Eleven pages--this _is_ a letter! Have courage. I’m going to stop.
Yours always,
JUDY.
April 10th.
_Dear Mr. Rich-Man_,
Here’s your check for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I do
not feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford
all of the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly
stuff about the millinery shop; it’s just that I had never seen
anything like it before.
However, I wasn’t begging! And I would rather not accept any more
charity than I have to.
Sincerely yours,
JERUSHA ABBOTT.
April 11th.
_Dearest Daddy_,
Will you please forgive me for the letter I wrote you yesterday?
After I posted it I was sorry, and tried to get it back, but that
beastly mail clerk wouldn’t give it to me.
It’s the middle of the night now; I’ve been awake for hours
thinking what a Worm I am--what a Thousand-legged Worm--and that’s
the worst I can say! I’ve closed the door very softly into the
study so as not to wake Julia and Sallie, and am sitting up in bed
writing to you on paper torn out of my history note-book.
I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry I was so impolite about
your check. I know you meant it kindly, and I think you’re an old
dear to take so much trouble for such a silly thing as a hat.
I ought to have returned it very much more graciously.
But in any case, I had to return it. It’s different with me than
with other girls. They can take things naturally from people. They
have fathers and brothers and aunts and uncles; but I can’t be on
any such relations with any one. I like to pretend that you belong
to me, just to play with the idea, but of course I know you don’t.
I’m alone, really--with my back to the wall fighting the world--and
I get sort of gaspy when I think about it. I put it out of my mind,
and keep on pretending; but don’t you see, Daddy? I can’t accept any
more money than I have to, because some day I shall be wanting to
pay it back, and even as great an author as I intend to be, won’t be
able to face a _perfectly tremendous_ debt.
I’d love pretty hats and things, but I mustn’t mortgage the future
to pay for them.
You’ll forgive me, won’t you, for being so rude? I have an awful
habit of writing impulsively when I first think things, and then
posting the letter beyond recall. But if I sometimes seem
thoughtless and ungrateful, I never mean it. In my heart I thank you
always for the life and freedom and independence that you have given
me. My childhood was just a long, sullen stretch of revolt, and now
I am so happy every moment of the day that I can’t believe it’s
true. I feel like a made-up heroine in a story-book.
It’s a quarter past two. I’m going to tiptoe out to the mail chute
and get this off now. You’ll receive it in the next mail after the
other; so you won’t have a very long time to think bad of me.
Good night, Daddy,
I love you always,
JUDY.
May 4th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Field Day last Saturday. It was a very spectacular occasion. First
we had a parade of all the classes, with everybody dressed in white
linen, the Seniors carrying blue and gold Japanese umbrellas,
and the Juniors white and yellow banners. Our class had crimson
balloons--very fetching, especially as they were always getting
loose and floating off--and the Freshmen wore green tissue-paper
hats with long streamers. Also we had a band in blue uniforms hired
from town. Also about a dozen funny people, like clowns in a circus,
to keep the spectators entertained between events.
Julia was dressed as a fat country man with a linen duster and
whiskers and baggy umbrella. Patsy Moriarty (Patricia, really.
Did you ever hear such a name? Mrs. Lippett couldn’t have done better.)
who is tall and thin was Julia’s wife in an absurd green bonnet over
one ear. Waves of laughter followed them the whole length of the
course. Julia played the part extremely well. I never dreamed that a
Pendleton could display so much comedy spirit--begging Master
Jervie’s pardon; I don’t consider him a true Pendleton though,
any more than I consider you a true Trustee.
Sallie and I weren’t in the parade because we were entered for the
events. And what do you think? We both won! At least in something.
We tried for the running broad jump and lost; but Sallie won the
pole-vaulting (seven feet three inches) and I won the fifty-yard
dash (eight seconds).
I was pretty panting at the end, but it was great fun, with the
whole class waving balloons and cheering and yelling:
What’s the matter with Judy Abbott?
She’s all right.
Who’s all right?
Judy Ab-bott!
That, Daddy, is true fame. Then trotting back to the dressing tent
and being rubbed down with alcohol and having a lemon to suck. You
see we’re very professional. It’s a fine thing to win an event for
your class, because the class that wins the most gets the athletic
cup for the year. The Seniors won it this year, with seven events
to their credit. The athletic association gave a dinner in the
gymnasium to all of the winners. We had fried soft-shell crabs, and
chocolate ice-cream molded in the shape of basket balls.
I sat up half of last night reading “Jane Eyre.” Are you old enough,
Daddy, to remember sixty years ago? And if so, did people talk that
way?
The haughty Lady Blanche says to the footman, “Stop your chattering,
knave, and do my bidding.” Mr. Rochester talks about the metal
welkin when he means the sky; and as for the mad woman who laughs
like a hyena and sets fire to bed curtains and tears up wedding
veils and _bites_--it’s melodrama of the purest, but just the same,
you read and read and read. I can’t see how any girl could have
written such a book, especially any girl who was brought up in a
churchyard. There’s something about those Brontés that fascinates
me. Their books, their lives, their spirit. Where did they get it?
When I was reading about little Jane’s troubles in the charity
school, I got so angry that I had to go out and take a walk.
I understood exactly how she felt. Having known Mrs. Lippett,
I could see Mr. Brocklehurst.
Don’t be outraged, Daddy. I am not intimating that the John Grier
Home was like the Lowood Institute. We had plenty to eat and plenty
to wear, sufficient water to wash in, and a furnace in the cellar.
But there was one deadly likeness. Our lives were absolutely
monotonous and uneventful. Nothing nice ever happened, except
ice-cream on Sundays, and even that was regular. In all the eighteen
years I was there I only had one adventure--when the woodshed
burned. We had to get up in the night and dress so as to be ready in